Not Appropriate
by Brightelf
Summary: Bill is a military man, with a well-disciplined sense of logic and order...that Laura Roslin will not fit into.


Not Appropriate

"Frakking hell of a day." Commander William Adama stormed into his quarters, ripping his jacket off and viciously throwing a book onto the couch. "Frakking idiot Quorum, frakking creepy-ass Baltar /what is with that lunatic anyway?/"

He slammed down a glass of ambrosia. "And frakking no-count idiot President wannabe schoolteacher."

There was the _real_ aggravation of his day. Frakking schoolteacher with her frakking self-satisfied smirk with no _clue_ of how to be a president—his justice-minded conscience stopped his tirade right there. Okay, she did have some logical ideas. That he would give her. And she didn't get overly heated or emotional in tense debates. He'd give her that too. /Unlike the other frakwits on the Quorum./And she was proving to be more adept than that moron Adar had ever been. Not that _that_ took much ever. The man had been a self-important ass.

Still, the woman irritated him to no godsdamned end. She didn't even frakking _look_ like a politician...or a schoolteacher for that matter. Adama wondered if that was a part of his irritation with Roslin. Bill trusted logic and he liked when people showed their cards enough for him to predict them. Roslin had no predictability to gauge, and she definitely did not fit into his logical, ordered ideas of what was appropriate.

He sat down on his couch with a grunt, ambrosia in hand. His mind immediately began categorizing all the sins of one President Laura Roslin against his picture of appropriate logic. Point #1: Schoolteachers should be little old ladies with rulers in their hand and gray hair pulled into a tight bun. Schoolteachers should _not_ have long wavy auburn hair that framed large green eyes. Bill Adama frowned even more. And gods forbid she have a ruler in her handཀ Again, it was not logically appropriate, because instead of looking like a schoolteacher, he could only think of Laura Roslin in some act he and Saul had seen years ago at a strip club. /Not a good way to think of the President Billཀ/ His groin began to ache. Bill ignored it, absentmindedly rubbing himself and continuing to catalog Laura Roslin's various sins against logic and appropriateness.

Yeah, there was that long auburn hair that swished and bounced when she walked. Which brought him to Point #2: Roslin's hips. Schoolteachers should be clothed in loose sweaters and long skirts, preferable in a dull shade of gray or brown; but no, not Laura Roslin. Laura Roslin had to wear a tight black skirt—what were those skirts called again? Oh yeah, pencil skirts—Caroline had owned a few—Bill drank another gulp of ambrosia. No, she didn't dress like a schoolteacher, because Laura Roslin had to wear that godsdamned pencil skirt that hugged hips that did _not_ belong on a schoolteacher and an ass—Gods, what an assཀ Bill Adama had to admit Roslin had a spectacular ass—_again,_ one that did not belong on a schoolteacher _or_ a politician.

"Aw, frakཀ" This was not helping. Trying to make logic of Laura Roslin's illogical inappropriateness was not making him relax or have any great insight into her personality. It was making him horny...which was _not_ supposed to happen, because the woman irritated the shit out of him, even with those legs. Which brought about the third and final point. Point #3: No schoolteacher or politician should EVER, EVER have a pair of legs like that encased in a pair of black stilettos that all but screamed, "Frak meཀ"

Bill Adama put his glass down, needing to relieve some pressure----and then the doorbell rang. "Aw frak–what?"

He opened the door and rolled his eyes heavenward to Gods he didn't believe in. /What is this? Sarcasm?/

Laura Roslin stood on the other side of his hatch, wearing that godsdamned self-satisfied smirk, that frakking "frak me" skirt, and those godsdamned "frak me" pumps, looking nothing like a schoolteacher or politician should. She nodded, "May I come in?"

/No you may not. Unfortunately, I need to jack off in the shower because you can't get with the program and look like you're supposed to./ Adama gestured with his hand toward his couch. "Madame President. What can I do for you?"

Roslin sat down and Bill watched as one slender leg crossed in front of the other one and that frakking black skirt rose just a bit higher. /Frakཀ Frakཀ Frakཀ/ Laura Roslin, oblivious to Bill Adama's internal war with her reality versus what his version of schoolteacher/politician appropriateness, jumped to the point. /Okay, another thing in her favor./

"Commander, I know you don't like me very much, or even think that I have any type of qualifications to lead whatsoever–"

"Madame President-"

Laura raised her hand, forestalling his interruption. "But that being said, thank you for backing me up in there today." Her politician's smirk melted into a beautiful smile, one devoid of anything but sheer gratitude. Adama stopped, unsure of how to answer. He could deal with the politician's smile, that artificial mask of concern. He could not deal with a gentle smile of thanks and a softness in those emerald orbs. This was _not_ how politicians were supposed to behave. He felt a headache coming on again. She was not following the rules againཀ He heard her soft contralto, "—and thank you for putting up with the Quorum."

She stood up, smoothing her skirt and tossing her burgundy waves over her shoulder. "Anyway, I should go."

Bill was finally pulled out of his stupor. "Yeah, well," he said the only thing his tired brain could think of at the moment. "You're–very welcome, Madame President." /Smooth Bill. How obvious of an answer was that?/

She pushed open the hatch to step out. Suddenly, Roslin turned back to Bill. "You know-ah-" she bit her lip, seemingly at a loss for words, her stormy eyes staring at him intensely.

"Madame President?" Bill was becoming increasingly uncomfortable under the scrutiny of her large green eyes; eyes which burned bright emerald when she was enraged, and glowed a stormy grey-green with naked emotion when her guard was down. Beautiful eyes. His mind mentally slapped him back to reality. /Point #4: Schoolteachers and politicians should _not_ have beautiful green eyes./

"I'm sorry–" Bill closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's been a long day and I'm having trouble focusing. Could you repeat that Madame President?"

Laura Roslin frowned in—concern?

"I said, Commander, there are days when you completely defy my logic of what a military person is supposed to be like. Get some sleep. Good night."

She exited and Bill swore he could hear the click of those "frak me" stilettos echoing as she walked down the hall. /That makes two of us ladyཀ/ Frak itཀ Now he definitely needed a cold showerཀ


End file.
